


Tell The Wolf He's Home

by Anonymous



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Second War with Voldemort, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-22 22:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11976516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Home is where the wolf is content.





	Tell The Wolf He's Home

Remus pushed himself into the middle of the bed, seeking the warmth of its other occupant. Weak early morning light came through the ivy-covered window. He should cut it back, preferably today, although he suspected Severus rather enjoyed the greenish hue shrouding the surfaces of things and people.  
  
Scrawny arms wrapped around him. Severus was awake. Sex was their primary peacekeeper, and sex in the morning had the advantage of putting them both in a better mood. Remus felt some regret, when a tipsy confession or moments of carelessness revealed to others just how much they relied on the physicality of their bond, but the shocked faces and hushed words had no effect on their routine whatsoever. As if only the young and the beautiful had needs.  
  
They came together. Nightclothes were taken off or shoved out of the way. Remus' wrists were captured and held, and he arched into it, letting his voice rasp and biting the pale throat, playing it up for the visible shivers in Severus' body. Playing it up, because it was so little to ask.  
  
Remus wanted to touch and show his appreciation for the way he was filled, taken, cared for, but Severus wouldn't let go, and Remus didn't want to disturb his triumph of having caged a wild thing. It was good for them both, however, and Severus became deceptively soft in the aftermath.  
  
Remus never felt like a beast, though he sometimes believed he lived with one – a bear or a dragon, unpredictable and harsh. Severus looked the part: fingers slender and dangerous like claws, teeth so much longer and sharper than Remus', eyes dark and burning, lips so thin and stern, spitting venom from a hypnotic tongue. Underneath all that control his magic was wild, bubbling up and bursting free, electrifying the air, when he let his guard down.  
  
Remus loved him anyway. Sometimes he was convinced his eyes had turned black as well from looking at Severus for too long. He was endlessly cruel, like the tide and the moon were cruel, but he could be tamed, or if not that, then softened at least.  
  
Severus was a creature of habit. Mealtimes were kept like clockwork. He religiously read the _Daily Prophet_ from the first to the last page every day. He had his bath in the evenings after dinner. On the good, easy days, he allowed Remus to wash his hair and comb it out, while he put his head on Remus' lap. It was not like glossy silk at all, but Remus brushed his love into the dark strands with every stroke.  
  
In the summer, Severus spent countless afternoons in the garden. Surrounded by scrolls of parchment and reference books, he sat under the plum and apple trees, keeping the flies off with needlessly intricate spells, and Remus would keep his distance until it was safe to kiss sun-warmed skin.   
  
The spring and autumn showers made him cranky. Remus liked the sound the rain made on the roof and the strange vegetable perfume drifting through the house, when he opened the doors and windows, but Severus was cold and miserable, feeling phantom pains and afraid to catch his death.  
  
They argued more during winter, suffering from cabin fever and making easy targets for one another. Severus tended to feel both suffocated and needy. They fared better without talking. Remus often woke up in the small hours from the sharp nose poking the nape of his neck and he would yield, letting forceful limbs work him over until Severus was too sated to be mean. It didn't matter that they were too old. They put every workable table, wall and stretch of floor to good use, because Remus would choose bruised hips and sore knees over cold distance any time.  
  
The days of the full moon were difficult. Severus' potion gave him the resemblance of sanity, but it couldn't take away the pain, terror, despair of his curse. Severus at least was considerate enough to hide his thrill, although the hands reverently running through his fur spoke of a kinship Remus himself had never felt.  
  
When they were not at home, they travelled. Severus would say _I'm going to Greenland_ or _I'm going to Egypt_ or _I'm going to the Cotswolds_ , and he would say _You're coming_ , and that would be that. Remus insisted on packing his own pyjamas, while Severus preferred making do with what they could get on the road, always happy to take off as long as he knew exactly where they were going and how long it would be until they came back.   
  
Severus said _This is a travesty_ when he first saw their room in the small Orkney bed and breakfast. He didn't mean the explosion of tartan on the wallpaper, curtains, lampshades and upholsteries – which their hosts assured them was only for the tourists, because being a Scot from Orkney was like not being a Scot at all – but the presence of a pair of single beds that, being bolted to the floor, would be impossible to push together.  
  
Posing as bird watchers, they skulked around the shores of Loch of Harray. The bridle of plaited silverbell weed was ready in Remus' pocket, when they finally found a kelpie at dusk on the sixth day. Severus froze, mesmerised. Seeing him reaching out with bare hands to touch made Remus nervous, even though he knew neither of them would be stuck with the bridle in place.  
  
It was a rare sight, fully-grown, proud and still – a true predator. Severus seemed to have forgotten himself, so Remus had to do everything on his own. He carefully ran his gloved fingers through the grassy mane to collect the few precious loose hairs. After he was done, he had to force himself to break the spell of Severus' glowing elation, thoroughly regretful but unwilling to risk the kelpie's anger.  
  
Back in their rented room, Remus crammed them both in one of the twin beds and held Severus tightly, a little scared of the distant peace on the sallow face. Severus didn't tell him about the little boy always running and searching for magical creatures – undeniable proof that, outside of the shabby walls of his home, magic was everywhere – because Remus already knew.  
  
Italy was the honeymoon they never had and would never get. After the wet, grey excuse for a summer they left behind, the southern sun made Remus mad with desire. Severus was smug and evasive, teasing him with refusals he didn't mean. Their host, a fellow potions master and an old friend of Severus, accompanied Remus on morning swims in the ocean and dusty bicycle rides through the unreal postcard landscape surrounding the villa. Remus barely registered his presence. Without Severus there, he was as good as alone.  
  
Severus held out until the hours after lunch, when everyone retreated to rest. The thick stone walls of the old house kept the rooms just cool enough to lie down. Later Remus lay on rumpled sheets, sticky and out of breath, while Severus mocked him for being insatiable, for being a cliché of the cold-blooded Englishman who couldn't take the heat. Remus pressed his open mouth against Severus' skin, inhaling the warm salt deep enough to take home with him, and didn't reply.   
  
Once or twice, he told Severus that he would like to take him in his mouth and hold him there as Severus sat in the armchair in the library, that had become his over the weeks, and Remus would be on his knees, quiet and too full of Severus to think of anything else. The high colour in Severus' cheeks betrayed his feigned contempt.  
  
This condensed form of sunbleached happiness made Remus slow and reckless, but he let himself fall, safe in the knowledge that Severus would be watchful and protect him from harm.  
  
On their way home Remus often asked _What about looking in on one of the expat Weasleys_ or _Minerva and the others at Hogwarts_ , but Severus' answer of _No, you can send a Christmas card_ never varied. It didn't matter, if it was November, March or August. Severus didn't care for detours when the destination was home.


End file.
